Reason Will Not Lead to Solution
by erin plus ten
Summary: Some obscure scene at some obscure point in time at Hogwarts. FlintHermione.
1. Chapter 1

Her nostrils were filled with that musty book smell of the library. His were filled with that sweet citrus smell of her hair.

"Why are we here?"

"To study." Her hair was a poof pulled away from her face in a loose white scrunchy. His hair was neatly combed and in place.

"…It is Saturday. Surely you are jesting."

"No one said you had to follow me here. You did that on your own accord."

The sun was shining. The birds were chirping. Marcus Flint was pouting.

"Why do I follow you around like a lost puppy?" he pulled his sweater tight around him. He was cold.

"Because I'm witty and stunningly beautiful?" her monotone voice was not amusing. Her milquetoast attitude of late was simply not amusing him. His primitive features fell into a frown.

"No." He grabbed her chin, his rough hand easily jerked her to face him. Dark gray eyes studied her. After a few moments of his analysis he announced, _"You look like innocence."_

"Why is it that you follow me? You are not answering your own question."

He ignored her and continued. "You look like daffodils in the sun. You look like newborn kittens playing with a ball of yarn in the grass."

"Is that what I look like? I should consider wearing a bit more makeup then."

He looked at her with an expression that clearly stated 'I am not joking'. By now he was standing beside her pulling her up to stand next to him by her upper arm.

"You look like a baby wrapped in silk. You look like peace." He shoved her against a stack of books, a few falling from the top. The noise of the volumes smacking the floor went unnoticed. "You look like bliss."

"You look like dirty gutter water." She began to play along. "You look like revulsion. You look like prejudice. You look like a war torn third world country. You look like a starving and abused puppy."

He growled.

"You look like everything I should hate. You look like fear. You look like my nightmares. You look like death." Their noses were touching. She was breathing her words into his soul. "You look like the absence of emotion."

His fingers were gripping her arms so tight she was sure that it would leave a mark. "You look like safety. You look like a ladybug sunbathing on a blade of grass." His voice had dropped to a whisper and he buried his face in her hair, inhaling. She was trembling, she wasn't sure how any of this had come about.

One day they were enemies. One day Flint decided to stalk her. One day they were having an angry cuddle against books in the library.

A copy of Quidditch Through the Ages was digging into the small of her back. Marcus' finger nails were digging into her arms.

"Who are you? Answer only if you can tell the truth." She begged him to make eye contact. He was silent.

"Who are you?" She didn't like to repeat herself.

"You don't want to know."

"I do."

"No."

Hermione did not respond well to 'no' especially when it was spoken in such a harsh tone.

His thigh was touching her thigh. They were both painfully aware of the contact.

"Who are you?" She asked again. She didn't feel bad when she saw pain was the prominent emotion in his stormy eyes.

"Don't ask me that." He hissed in her ear bringing his head to rest on her shoulder. She was tired of standing in the library. She was tired of this room. She was tired of Marcus Flint.

"Tell me."

"No."

"I will keep it a secret."

"No."

"Cross my heart."

"No."

"Hope to die."

"_No_."

"Stick a needle in my eye."

"You look like hope." His head was still resting on her shoulder. His hands were still clutching her arms.

"I grow tired of this game."

"I am not playing a game." He willed her to understand. He knew that she could not. "I am everything you should be afraid of."

"I am not afraid of you. Why would I be afraid of you? You are a little boy trying to play the part of a soldier."

"I wish you were afraid. You should be afraid. Your blind bravery is dangerous. It will get you killed. I do not want to see you dead. Hope should not die."

She slapped him.

He felt heat on his face. Heat in the shape of a hand. Heat in the shape of her hand. It felt like comfort. It felt like being alive.

He kissed her. She kissed him back.

His hands were no longer clutching her viscously but tenderly wrapped around her petite waste.

"You taste like love." He murmured against her lips.

"You taste like hate."

"Do you mean that?" He nuzzled her neck.

"You don't want to know my answer to that question."

He took the white scrunchy out of her hair. He tucked it into his right pocket. He gave her his handkerchief. "Promise me you will keep it with you. The next time I see you will not be in the most pleasant conditions. I want to know that you have it with you. I want you to promise me."

"I can't."

"Promise me." He pushed it into her left palm.

"Okay."

"Say it."

"You look like a broken promise." She whispered. He pushed her against the books not taking care to be gentle.

_"Don't say that!"_ He roared. "Don't go to war without it. Please. Just remember me."

"I…"

"You will wear it in your shirt and when I am slaughtering your comrades you will remember that it is not me committing those murders. And I will know that you know and it will comfort me. I will need the comfort because I am going to die."

"Don't say that."

He was shaking.

"I promise I will keep it with me." She uttered under her breath.

One last bruising kiss. He walked away.


	2. Chapter 2

Within the next week tensions had mounted between the different forces within Hogwarts walls. The classic battle of good versus evil. Left versus right. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Hermione had only afforded passing glances at Marcus Flint in the Great Hall. As hard as she tried she couldn't erase the memory of their encounter.

After a month of Marcus following her around the climax of their encounters occurred exactly seven days ago in a musty library. She shivered at the thought of him pressed against her, seeming to care for her. But Marcus Flint could not care for anyone. He was an enigma and she didn't want to figure him out. She was afraid of what she might find.

To say that he had been avoiding her for the past week would be wrong. Every time she glanced his direction his dark deep-set eyes were studying her, watching over her. He now made no attempts to stalk her though. This concerned her, it was almost as if he was planning something.

"What's with Flint? Is he still bothering you, Hermione? I thought he gave that up, the stupid prick." Ron spat off angrily. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"He hasn't said anything to me since last week." Hermione replied, pushing her breakfast around on her plate. Harry and Ron knew that Marcus had been following her around for a while, but they knew nothing of their last encounter. They only knew that he had ceased to follow her for the past week. Hermione had become more reserved in the past few months, barely addressing the two she called her best friends. She still cared for them dearly but with everything going on she just needed space to clear her mind.

She got up, gathered up her books, and headed off for the library, as was her Sunday tradition. She settled into her favorite musty room and found herself reasonably unable to concentrate. She stared at the spot where she stood when Marcus Flint, of all people, had skillfully assaulted her mouth and her mind.

Her books lay open in front of her but her mind wandered.

She didn't even hear him come in. He stood in the door frame for a few minutes, observing her in her environment as he loved to do. As he approached her he didn't take extra care to be silent, he couldn't help that he was naturally stealthy despite his brutish appearance.

He leaned over her shoulder and even though he couldn't see her eyes he knew she wasn't focusing on her book. He inhaled deeply, taking in his favorite smell, and then whispered against her ear, "Do you have it with you?"

She gave a small yelp and whipped around to see him inches from her. How could she not have noticed the intense warmth radiating off him? Or the woodsy smell she had recently become familiar with?

"I… what?" She was a little disoriented, honestly believing that he was done following her. Silly her.

"Do you have it with you? My handkerchief?" He wasn't talking with his normal grunt, he spoke with more of a whisper and his breath collided with hers, swirling in the small space between their faces.

"No… I… it is in my room." She felt embarrassed, she was never lost for words and she had no reason to be now. She did not have to answer to him, she barely knew him.

A growl rose up in his throat as he put his hand on Hermione's cheek, forcing her into the eye contact with him that she was avoiding. "I told you to keep it with you, you never know what could happen at any minute." His hands were shaking from the contrast of the anger radiating off of him and the softness of Hermione's cheek. His voice dropped back to a whisper, "please do this for me." He didn't care how pathetic it sounded.

Confusion churned in her eyes. "Why is this so important to you?" Fuck not wanting to figure him out. She couldn't help her curiosity.

His eyebrows furrowed together making him look more dark and menacing. He ran his thumb along her jawbone, averting his eyes to watch the movements of his hand. "I don't know. I just know… that you're important to me. I can't explain why so don't ask me to."

She leaned into his touch unconsciously and he treasured that moment. "You look like despair." Her words didn't even qualify as a whisper but he heard them as if she had shouted them in his ear. He leaned his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes.

"I guess you really do know it all." His eyes slid shut, just absorbing her proximity. He definitely could not say he was in love with her, he didn't even know if he knew how to love. He just knew that she meant more to him than any other human ever head, but that wasn't saying anything considering that no one had ever meant anything to him. "Do I really taste like hate?" He referred back to her comment from their encounter last week.

Her eyes were now closed too, and a smirk formed on her lips. "I don't know, I might need another taste." She closed the space between their lips. This kiss was almost the opposite of the previous week's. It was tender and soft, two words she never thought would apply to the bully Marcus Flint. He pulled her up out of her chair and grabbed her hips gently. She pulled away slightly, breathing heavily. He was very aware of her chest rising and falling against his. "You taste like hate with a side of remorse."

He frowned and kissed her cheek, her jaw, and her neck. She leaned her head back to allow him access as he nibbled and kissed her neck. She buried her hands in his warm robes, pulling him closer. A sigh escaped her lips and he pulled away. "You still taste like love. With maybe a hint of strawberry."

This encounter seemed so different from their last, Marcus Flint hasn't ceased to surprise her.

"Go to your room and get my handkerchief. Never leave it, just in case. It comforts me… please." The desperation in his voice was that of a dying man.

"I don't understand."

"You don't need to." He hissed, his caring tone switching to impatient and rude in the blink of an eye. She pushed him away and he pushed back into her, her thighs pressing against the tabletop. She frowned as she tried to wiggle out of his grasp but he held her against him and he kissed her again, this time more forcefully and it was making her uncomfortable.

She wrestled her mouth away from his, "You're being an asshole, stop it. You can't force people to do everything you want. Let go of me. Now."

Her forceful tone seemed to have no affect on him as he still held her, his face falling from angry to pathetic in a split second. "I'm sorry, Hermione. Just please… I need some comfort in this world. Keep the handkerchief with you." He nudged her cheek and she relaxed against him. Every moral she ever had told her to slap him again but he was just pathetic and she sympathized with him for some reason. Before she knew what was happening he pushed her back to sit on the table, spreading her legs and nestling in between them. He nibbled her bottom lip and ran his hands over her thighs. "You are the light in my darkness." He whispered against her cheek, he just wanted to stand like this forever. Protected from harsh reality by her soft, welcoming body.

"I will just disappoint you, Flint. I can't be a light in your darkness, I don't even have a light in mine."

"You could never disappoint me."


End file.
